Doctor Who: Parallax - The Lion's Roar
by Montana
Summary: EPISODE VII: The Doctor, Rose, and Jack find themselves in Alexandria, Egypt in 40 BCE. They are brought to the court of Cleopatra where Jack revels in the blatant advances of the 'most beautiful woman in the world' until they discover the palace is starting to disappear, block by block. Nine/Rose, AU/AR
1. Chapter 1

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Here's the seventh episode of the Parallax series!

For those just dropping in, you might want to go back to episodes I – VI and catch yourself up. Otherwise, this won't make a ton of sense, being an AU and all. The previous episodes can be found on my profile. Their titles are, in order:

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – I Won't Dance_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Counting Stars_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Shake It Out_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – King And Lionheart_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Ghosts That We Knew_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Saints And Sinners_**

* * *

"Y'know, I spent a decade avoiding all the society events and cocktail parties and dinners that I could," Rose mused as she lay back, exhausted, against the front steps of Southwark Cathedral, "Then The Doctor shows up, and I've worn more dresses in the last six months than I did in the last six years." This time, at least, she'd managed to get away with a cocktail dress as opposed to a floor-length gown. Not that it mattered much while she was running for her life in yet another pair of heels or hanging precariously from the cathedral bell tower. Next to her, Jack Harkness was sprawled out in an equal state of exhaustion, the left leg of his tuxedo trousers torn at the knee and the severed fabric pooled around his ankle.

"Yeah, but you look incredible," The former Time Agent leaned in close with his most winning smile and nudged her with his shoulder. Rose couldn't help laughing in response as she brushed wood splinters off the olive green chiffon.

"You're shameless, you are," she chided.

"Always," he acknowledged, "But tell me, how was it?"

"How was what?"

"You. The Doctor. Crammed together in that little capsule." Mickey'd been right. Jack was the captain of the innuendo squad, and Rose felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she recalled the all-too recent incident.

"Jealous?" she asked, deflecting. Bless her, she tried, but Rose was nothing if not honest. Every thought in her head showed on her face. Mercifully, however, Jack allowed her her pride.

"Absolutely," he grinned, "Just can't decide who I'm more jealous of." It had been little over a week since Jack had left the H.M.S. Aberdeen aboard the TARDIS, and in so little a time he'd fallen into a natural rapport with the last Time Lord in existence and the girl from another universe. He'd been more than a little shocked learning of Rose's origins, though not in the manner most would suspect. By his time, parallel universes were an accepted scientific theory, a virtually undisputed fact. Humanity simply hadn't figured out how to cross the divide, yet. No, Jack was shocked by the sheer statistical unlikelihood of running into someone from a parallel world who, more importantly, had known a parallel version of himself.

"Spoilt for choice, poor thing," Rose mocked.

"Who is?" came a familiar baritone from behind them. Rose and Jack turned simultaneously to see The Doctor came strolling out of the cathedral with his easy gate and notably undamaged clothes. Rose shook her head at him before climbing reluctantly to her feet. As usual, the companions wound up winded and bedraggled while The Doctor was never the worse for wear.

"Was the pipe organ really necessary?" Rose asked, bypassing his inquiry, "I already had one cochlea replaced, you know. 'S not like they give you a bulk discount."

"The genetic manipulator worked on a sonic frequency," The Doctor explained as he trotted down the stairs, past Jack, and stopped beside her, "I needed the organ and the church bell to set up a resonance, reverse the programmin'. Had to crank it up to eleven." He said the last sentence with his mad, toothy grin, glancing expectantly between Rose and Jack.

"Figures," Rose chuckled, "Monty Python doesn't exist but Christopher Guest does."

"What's a 'Monty Python?'" Jack asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, but still declining to stand.

"Nothin,' doesn't matter," Rose dismissed.

"All right. Who's Christopher Guest?"

"Nobody," Rose assured.

"Oi!" The Doctor protested.

"Can we please get back to the point?" Rose asked, raising her hands to halt any further discussion on the merits of Spinal Tap, "What 'bout Lazarus?"

"Dead," The Doctor confirmed, solemnly, "He's... himself again. We can go." At his pronouncement, he and Rose both turned to look expectantly at Jack. The reformed conman looked up at them, wearily.

"Oh, come on," he replied when they wouldn't stop staring, "I just spent the night running from an evolutionary throwback, not to mention pulling Rose up off the ledge of a bell tower."

"Thank you, again," Rose interjected.

"Any time," Jack winked and The Doctor rolled his eyes, "Just, let me catch my breath a minute, all right?" For a few beats, neither Rose nor The Doctor had anything to say.

"Sooo," Rose hedged, puckering her lips in contemplation and gazing upward innocently, "Ready yet?" Jack sighed heavily and heaved himself to his feet.

"Fine, let's go," he relented, taking a few steps back toward Lazarus Laboratories before turning around, "You know, I think I deserve a little consideration. Maybe, I don't know, a handshake or, better yet, a kiss." Ostensibly, he was looking at Rose, but he was watching The Doctor closely in his periphery. In just over a week the unresolved tension between the two had become glaringly obvious, and he'd consoled himself over the fact Rose was off limits by taking every opportunity to ruffle The Doctor's feathers. He'd also discovered he wasn't the only one. As it turned out, the TARDIS was sentient, and he suspected the ship had a hand in the fact that Rose's cocktail dress and velvet T-strap shoes closely matched The Doctor's green jumper. The Time Lord had refused to wear a tuxedo, leaving Jack to accompany Rose to the party itself, but the TARDIS had seen fit to cast her own vote in the matter.

"You want a kiss?" Rose asked, her tongue touching her canine as she smiled. She thought she knew what he was on about.

"Yeah," Jack shrugged, "I think I've earned it." He was a comical sight with his bow tie hanging loose around his neck, the cuff of his jacket mildly singed, and his left leg bare from the knee down. Rose couldn't help but feel sorry for him, just a bit.

"All right, then," she allowed, but before she could move an inch, The Doctor let out a labored huff, stepped forward, took Jack's head in both hands, and planted a quick, chaste kiss on either cheek before letting go. Rose couldn't decide if she or Jack was more stunned.

"There," The Doctor said with a smug grin, "Satisfied?" Without awaiting an answer, the Time Lord offered Rose his arm, and she took it automatically, her mouth still gaping open in disbelief as they walked away. Jack stood and watched the pair for several seconds as he regained his composure.

"Yes, actually," he said under his breath, smiling at the sight of the two of them together. Shaking his head, he began to follow and shouted after The Doctor, "Tease!"

* * *

"So, according to Pete, Lazarus Laboratories was funded by a company in the Netherlands, 'Herboren International.'" Rose informed The Doctor as she sat at the dining table, sipping her morning cuppa over her now-empty plate. The Doctor sat in the chair opposite hers, sans jacket, with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee as he reclined back and slowly drummed his fingers against the wood. This table was bigger than before, and the galley seemed to have stretched slightly to accommodate it. Rose took it as a sign that the TARDIS had accepted Jack, and it made her love the ship even more.

"Herboren," The Doctor mused, his brow crinkling and his fingers falling still, "That's Dutch. Means 'reborn.'"

"Makes sense," Rose shrugged, "Investing in age reversing technology."

"Yeah," The Doctor said, somewhat distracted, "Bit on the nose, though."

"Well, anyway, Pete's lookin' into it. Says he'll call if anythin' looks suspicious." The Doctor merely nodded, staring at the far wall in thought. Rose took her time with the rest of her Darjeeling, casting the occasional glance at the obviously preoccupied Time Lord. There was something important she needed to discuss with him after last night, and she hadn't a clue how to broach the subject. Finally, she'd drained her cup down to the dregs and she set it down with careful hands, taking a moment to pick at her neatly trimmed fingernails before fixing The Doctor with a steady look. It was now or never.

"Doctor?" she asked, and the tone of her voice caught his attention. Rarely did she sound so serious, and as he met her unflinching gaze, he straightened his chair and leaned forward to face her.

"What is it, Rose?" The Doctor asked, puzzled by her gravity but not overly concerned. As a general rule, if it were an emergency, she'd be shouting, and she certainly wouldn't have waited until after breakfast.

"Last night, I got to thinkin'," she began, her eyes falling to her clasped hands now that she had his attention, "Lazarus, he was so concerned about dyin'."

"Most sentient beings are," The Doctor pointed out, "Sometimes I think I'm missin' out on somethin'." The latter was clearly intended to lighten the mood, but it fell flat. Rose hadn't realized just how much the events of that night had troubled her until she'd gone to bed and she'd lain on that fabulously comfortable cot staring at the star-speckled ceiling for hours as the sounds and scents of a spring night outside Seoul drifted on the nonexistent breeze.

"We don't live forever, Doctor," Rose said softly, "Humans, I mean." The Doctor's chest suddenly felt constricted and his mouth went dry. He knew, acutely, just how quickly she'd be gone. He struggled every day to suppress his ever-present awareness of that numbing fact. He leaned on it every time he caught himself dwelling too long on the scent of her skin or the sensation of her warm hand in his. One day, far too soon for his liking, she would be gone. He didn't need reminding, so why was she bringing this up?

"S'pose it's for the best," she continued when he didn't respond, daring a glance at him but immediately lowering her eyes once more in response to the look on his face, "Planet would get pretty crowded." It was a lame attempt at humor, and she knew it.

"Rose..." The Doctor began, his voice harsh with strain.

"Jus'... let me finish, yeah?" This time, she did meet his gaze, and as he saw the resolve, the determination there, he closed his mouth and swallowed hard.

"I will be here, with you, forever," she said, and her tone brooked no objections, "I'm not leavin', unless you make me, and I won't let anythin' keep me from you. Not for long. Only thing is, my forever in't the same as yours, Doctor. I can't..." She almost broke, then, but what she had to say was so important, she cleared the harsh tickle from her throat and pressed on, "I can't be around your whole life. I want you to promise, Doctor. I want you to promise me that after I'm gone, after Jack's gone... Promise me you'll find someone to travel with. No matter what, find another companion; find four or five, I don't care. Just... Just don't be alone. You shouldn't be alone."

"Rose..." his tone was softer, now, consoling. His mind, already resistant to the inevitability of her loss, refused to imagine anyone else sitting on that mangy jump seat, heckling him as he replaced yet another blown fuse or warped rotor. He'd gone years without a companion, and he'd only asked her along because she fascinated him and because he thought she might actually be able to survive his hell-bent search for redemption. Now, though, she was so much more. He'd been alone; alone he could do. He could never replace her, and the thought of attempting it offended him on a primal level.

"No," she insisted, and all thoughts of reassuring her withered under that dark gaze, "Promise me, right now, or it ends here. I will go back to London, to Torchwood and bad telly and beans on toast. I will pilot this ship myself if I have to, but I will leave unless you swear that you'll find someone else when I'm gone." She knew, deep in her bones, that it was a risky gambit to threaten a Time Lord, never mind this particular Time Lord, and the look in his eyes confirmed as much. She almost regretted her words, but she couldn't. It was far, far too important to back down, now, and she held his gaze with a steadfastness she didn't know she possessed. All that time her heart pounded, terrified, in her chest.

The Doctor was speechless. Fear and fury and indignation warred for dominance. Had she not just finished saying she would never leave him? How could she then threaten to do just that? How could she attempt to prize an empty promise from him to replace her? Just as the hurt and confusion became nearly overwhelming, he saw, with stark clarity, the depth of fear in those clear hazel eyes; and just as she'd done countless times before, she became his anchor, his salvation from the Oncoming Storm. 'I'm not leavin', _unless you make me_,' she'd said, 'to London, to Torchwood and bad telly and beans on toast,' and she'd not once called it 'home.' She was scared and desperate and what she asked meant more to her than anything. She wasn't threatening him, not really. She was risking exile, gambling her own happiness, in an effort to save him from himself.

"Doctor?" she asked, and the tremor in her voice broke him. In the end, it was his choice: to lose her now and avoid the difficult, distasteful task of moving on in a healthy manner; or to spend all the years she had left, together, with the promise to swallow his damned pride and find someone to travel with after she was gone. He didn't have to replace her; that wasn't what she was asking. She didn't even know it was an issue. All he had to do was live a full life after she was gone, not the half-life he'd have resigned himself to if left to his own devices. Slowly, he reached out and took her clasped hands in both of his.

"I promise," he said quietly, but with level conviction, and he could almost feel the relief flood through her, "I'll find someone, Rose. I'll find someone fantastic."

"Good morning!" Jack's irritatingly chipper voice filled the kitchen as he breezed through the swinging door, and Rose and The Doctor broke apart as though scalded. When he spotted them, both looking thoroughly wounded and guilty, Jack stopped. "All right, who died?" It had been a rhetorical question, intended to lighten the mood, but as the pair glanced at one another and The Doctor rose to his feet and stalked out of the kitchen without a word, Jack's face fell.

"Wait, did someone actually die?" he asked after the Time Lord was gone. Rose shook her head and stood up, giving him a thin, watery smile.

"There's extra bacon in the pan," she said, "We'll be in the console room when you're finished."


	2. Chapter 2

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I am SO sorry. I mean, I really, really am. Shit be crazy around here. Hubby dearest and I are trying to buy a house and we just went through the whole process of hunting and making an offer and having the offer accepted only to go through the inspection and find out that – just everything needs to be replaced. So, we had to come back with a lower offer, which got rejected, and now we're hunting again. That said, **I can no longer make any guarantees about a posting schedule.** I can, however, promise to not let the series die. I will finish it, unless I get hit by a bus or something, it just might take longer than I hoped. Thank you all so much for your patience.

**Vaylyn:** I traditionally don't like to give spoilers, but in light of my recent dereliction, I will say that the whole Rose being mortal issue will eventually be resolved. It won't be clean and neat and happy. It will be difficult and painful and Jackie will be pissed. Someone might get slapped. Still, I have to have Rose and The Doctor address these fears because they don't know anything about a "plan." As far as they know, Rose will forever be mortal. It would be a bad case of imposing my omniscience on the characters if I failed to have them react appropriately to their world and circumstances as they understand them so far. **Hibari heza:** So sorry this update took so long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for sticking around through the rough and erratic posting schedule! **Purple/Mauve Guest: **I suspected it was you. :D I'm cleverer than I may seem. And dear Rose, still so caring and sweet, but so much wiser than she was. She knows when she needs to save him from himself. **pink lili flower:** For reasons I can't explain, putting the "."s in your name makes your name disappear when I submit the chapter. Anyway! Thanks so much for all the support, and I hope the continuation is worth the ungodly wait! **Dreamcatcher49:** He's occasionally slow on the uptake, but he does eventually catch on. Thank you for sticking with me! **Royslady51:** I honestly just don't see Rose submitting without complaint to millions of nitpicky diagnostic scans. He certainly knows something is off, and he's warned her not to look into the heart of the TARDIS ever again. Beyond that, he has enough respect for her not to turn her into a guinea pig or go all "overprotective" on her. Plus, all things considered, I don't think he really wants to take on too much of a "fatherly" type role. I mean, that's worse than "friendzoning." :D **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** Hahaha, Jack might be a Nine/Rose shipper at this point simply because he wants them to hurry up and shag so he doesn't have to live with their constant dancing around one another. But you're right, he will be very good for both of them. On the other topic, I'm not sure Nine would go Time Lord Victorious. I think if he lost Rose, he'd be more the Suicidal Hero Binge type. Still not good, though. Thank you so much for sticking it out with me and all your awesome support (which I've not been super good about returning of late...)**TK:** You know, I normally save the grave conversations for the end, but I thought I'd experiment with including one in the beginning. And I'm so glad you enjoyed the tomfoolery in the beginning. As I said to Blue Wolf, "Thank you so much for sticking it out with me and all your awesome support (which I've not been super good about returning of late...)" I've been reading both your fics and just been too stressed out and overwhelmed to sit down and write proper reviews. I will get on it, though. **TheBigCat:** And more profuse apologies. I'm so happy you enjoy the stories, and I'm so sorry this took so long. I will do my even best not to let life sneak up on me and give me a swirly from here on out. **Ran0neechan:** Thank you so much, and I'm sorry for the excessive delay! **Kay:** "Couldn't have put it better myself." :D Thank you for dropping in a review! **Aunt Sue Nihg Carthaigh:** No, this is not the end. Not that first chapter, and not this episode. I promise you I wouldn't start a whole new episode just to end it in one chapter. There are nine more episodes scheduled after this one (though you don't have to wait that long for the Nine/Rose fluff, just have to throw that in before anyone starts a goddamn riot, there's just a lot of stuff that needs to be wrapped up, like Rose's whole "being mortal" thing). They even have titles. And rough outlines. I have a plan, is what I'm saying. And those just might be the most dangerous words I've ever spoken. Thanks so much for the review, and for sticking with it even if this long delay had you thinking the worst. :D **Rattan: **First off, see the note to Vaylyn. And Aunt Sue. There's a plan, I promise. There always has been. That said, as I told Vaylyn, it won't be all "magic potion-y." It will be unplanned, and a trial for them all. Also, I include a lot of Ten/Donna or Ten/Martha stories as filler partly because I like Ten better than Eleven and partly because a LOT of Eleven's episodes had very strong tie-ins to overarching plots (The Silence, The Pandorica, etc.) that can't easily be glossed over. Not all episodes, obviously, there are some I can use without screwing with them too much, and I will eventually get to them. In fact, the Van Gogh episode (Vincent and the Doctor) is one of my very favorites of any Doctor. But, for now, I'm working from a bank of episodes without too many entanglements.

* * *

"So, where we off to, then?" Rose asked as she ambled into the control room and up to the console. The Doctor, whose face was contorted into a pained scowl as he shook his right hand, glanced at her briefly before picking up the spanner he'd dropped onto the console. Rose regarded the scene briefly, laying her hands on the cool porcelain ring that framed the instrument cluster. She thought she felt a vague buzz of irritation before the ship resumed the sort of contented hum Rose was familiar with. It was entirely possible Rose only imagined the sensation, but some small part of her fancied the notion that she was growing gradually more aware of the ship's 'moods' as she progressed in her flight training.

"I dunno," he chimed cheerfully, flexing his hand in an attempt to work the sharp, stinging sensation from his fingertips. The TARDIS never much cared for him making any manner of repairs or adjustments, no matter how minor, when he was in a foul mood. That said, the zap she gave him when he'd attempted to tighten the temporal shift modulator seemed a bit stronger than was strictly necessary. Still, he pasted on a smile for Rose's benefit, "Up to our resident pilot in training, I s'pose."

"You serious?" Rose asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"'Course," The Doctor shrugged, "You've gotten the hang of enterin' and exitin' the Vortex – more or less." He paused a moment, glancing up thoughtfully, and Rose knew exactly what he was thinking about. She'd been running a bit too hot when she'd left the Vortex on their way to London and nearly landed them 3,000 miles below the surface of the planet. While the TARDIS could, theoretically, withstand the landing, shifting her back out of the earth's molten outer core against the massive heat and pressure, never mind the magnetic field, would have proven difficult. Luckily, she'd stopped the materialization process and pulled the TARDIS back into the Vortex before making her second, more controlled approach. Jack had gone white as a sheet.

"Anyway," he continued, cheerfully, "More to learn, and no time like the present."

"Right, but, where should I go?" Rose asked, scanning the hectic arrangement of buttons and levers and switches, "I only know a handful of planetary coordinates, and we've been to all of them."

"I think the better question is, _when_ do we go?" The Doctor's smile grew more genuine, less manic, and he crossed his arms as he approached her.

"You mean, travel in time?" It sounded like an inane question the second she spoke; she well knew the TARDIS was a time machine, after all, but Rose's lessons had largely been focused on navigating through the three relatively simple dimensions of space. What The Doctor was suggesting sounded like trying to fly a 747 when all you've ever driven is a moped.

"It's not so different," The Doctor reassured, and when Rose choked out a disbelieving laugh, he sobered, "Really, though. You know how to get to Earth. You've landed in your own wardrobe. D'you know how difficult that is? Hitting a target that size on a planet spinnin' a thousand miles an hour, traveling in an orbit at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour? That's not even factorin' in the speed of your solar system orbiting the center of the Milky Way. Rose, travelin' in space is the hard part, even when you know the coordinates. Time – time's relatively stable. Even when the events change, the course of time holds. It's the point of reference, the constant, that the TARDIS uses to calculate her position in space."

It seemed that no matter where she was, or when, The Doctor never failed to surprise her. The matter-of-fact way in which he spoke of his magnificent ship's time travel capability left her feeling alternately reassured and utterly dumbfounded. Could it really be so simple? While the notion of time travel, in the abstract, didn't bother her, knowing how very simple a matter it was for The Doctor and his TARDIS put the differences between them in stark relief. She remembered, then, how her first Doctor had returned for her and, almost as an afterthought, blithely informed her that the blue police box also traveled in time. His absentmindedness on a matter that, for her, was so thrilling and so crucial, now made perfect sense.

"I guess that settles it, then," she said with a brief, curious laugh.

"Settles what?" he asked, his brow knitting in confusion.

"The debate. 'Bout whether she's a space ship that can travel in time or a time machine that can travel through space," Rose explained, "She can shift in time without knowin' where she's goin' in space, but she can't move reliably through space without knowin' what time she's in. So, I was right." When the barest hint of her tongue peeked through her triumphant smile, The Doctor narrowed his eyes.

"The TARDIS is extradimensional, Rose," he explained, crossing his arms and lifting his chin incrementally, "'S why she's bigger on the inside. Technically, that makes her a transdimensional transport." As he spoke, the memory of another Time Lord, another Doctor, standing in his control room surfaced. He'd been just an image, a pretty boy with a stupid haircut, but he was a reminder of possibilities The Doctor didn't care to entertain just at the moment.

"You have to argue about everything, don't you?"

"It's the truth!" he insisted.

"Don't care," Rose shrugged, turning away from him and flipping a number of switches, preparing the TARDIS to exit the Vortex, "She's a time ship, and she's magnificent. Now, how do I put her in reverse?"

* * *

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" Jack asked as he strode into the control room, rubbing his left elbow. The ship had bucked wildly to the right as he'd been walking through the corridor, throwing him into wall. After swearing and sliding to the floor to ride out a series of stomach-twisting drops and sickening lurches, he'd heard the Time Rotor wind down and hesitantly got to his feet to continue on his way. Now, as he stepped onto the ramp leading to the console deck, he saw Rose spraying the base of the console with a fire extinguisher while The Doctor disappeared under the grating, coughing and rattling off a string of alien words The TARDIS refused to translate.

"Sorry," Rose said, ignoring Jack and squeezing off another cloud of flame retardant, "I'm so sorry." The Doctor's irritated diatribe abated.

"'S all right," he reassured from below, "No harm done. Well, not much, anyway." The smoke was beginning to clear, though the acrid stench of burning wires was enough to curl his nose hair. Blessedly, his respiratory bypass engaged and he was able to assess the damage without coughing up a superior Time Lord lung. A dozen transfer fuses were blown, and half the Vortex energy converter assembly was melted onto the steering core. He swore fiercely under his breath and reached out a hand to remove one of the damaged fuses. When a sharp jab of electricity shot through his arm with a wave of simmering ire, he yanked his hand away and winged the back of his head on the grating.

"I didn't do it! What you gettin' shirty with me for?!" The Doctor protested, rubbing his scalp and wincing.

"Sorry," Rose's apology drifted down from above, and he sighed. He knew exactly why the ship wasn't taking it out on her. She didn't know any better; he did. The ship had always been a bit tricky, partially owing to the fact that, as an undesignated pilot, he'd never fully acquired the proper telepathic access to the ship. If he had, he'd know better when they landed somewhere he hadn't intended. Never mind the fact that the console had been designed for six pilots, not one. After the war, however, she'd been badly damaged, and he'd spent years learning her new aches and pains. Unfortunately, he'd spent so much time alone with the ship that many of his navigation techniques and compensating mechanisms were now automatic. He frequently forgot to inform Rose of those little quirks while he was instructing her.

"Not your fault," he said, reaching once again for a blown fuse, more gingerly this time, and pocketing it. He needed if for reference when he went to the spare part cupboard.

"It kind of is, though," Rose said as The Doctor lifted himself out of the access hatch. He paused for a moment, seated on grating with his legs hanging over the edge, and looked up at her. He offered her an understanding smile, but seeing Jack standing beside his sheepish companion, The Doctor scowled.

"Hey, she said it, not me," Jack insisted, raising his hands in a display of his lack of culpability.

"You were thinkin' it," The Doctor insisted, gathering his feet beneath him and pushing himself laboriously upright, "I've some repairs to make before we can leave."

"Where are we, anyway?" Jack asked, glancing at the monitor. While it regularly displayed information in English for Rose's benefit, the familiar letters blinked away as soon as he looked, replaced by the indecipherable system of rings and arches that composed The Doctor's native language.

"Alexandria, Egypt," The Doctor informed, looking at the screen, and smirking to himself. His ship may not have been thrilled with him, but it was comforting to know she was still on his side. The Big Reveal was one of his few real joys in life. Well, that and – he glanced at Rose on instinct before darting his gaze back to the monitor and continuing, "40 BCE. The reign of Cleopatra VII, last of the Ptolemaic pharaohs. Not bad for your first time." He beamed a proud smile at Rose, ignoring the sizzle and pop of one last fuse blowing.

"Cleopatra?" Rose asked, smiling back.

"One an' the same," The Doctor confirmed.

"_The_ Cleopatra?" Jack clarified, looking far too interested all of a sudden.

"Oi, don't get any – Where the hell's he goin'?" The Doctor began to scold Jack just as the reformed (The Doctor hoped) conman ran out of the console room.

"To find flowers and chocolate, probably," Rose chuckled. The Doctor gave her a horrified look. "Oh, come on, you were thinking the same thing."

* * *

"What on earth are you wearing?" Rose asked in a mixture of humor and disbelief as Jack returned to the console room. The Doctor popped his head up from under the grating where he'd just finished replacing the blown fuses. As soon as he caught sight of his newest companion, he rolled his eyes and gave a brief shake of his head before disappearing below once more.

"A toga!" Jack announced, proudly. The garment in question was a lightweight wool dyed maroon that fastened at his left shoulder, leaving the right bare, gathered at the waist by a thin rope belt, and fell to just above his knees. The bottom hem was embellished with a simple geometric pattern embroidered in silvery white thread.

"Chiton," the Doctor corrected, still under the grating.

"Sorry?" Jack and Rose spoke simultaneously.

"The thing you're wearin'," he said, resurfacing and climbing up out of the maintenance access, "It's called a chiton."

"Look who's the fashion expert all the sudden," Rose heckled, crossing her arms.

"You two aren't going to change?" Jack interjected.

"No," Rose stated definitively.

"Not bloody likely," the Doctor insisted simultaneously.

"Suit yourselves," Jack shrugged, throwing them a brilliant smile before walking confidently toward the door. Rose and The Doctor stood side-by-side, watching him swagger out the door into the brilliant sunlight beyond. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Can he be trusted?" The Doctor finally asked, half mocking and half serious.

"Not even a little," Rose laughed, following the irrepressible rogue down the ramp and out the open door.

* * *

**Footnote:** I've been watching a lot of Rescue Me, lately, and I suddenly have this bee in my bonnet to write a Doctor Who AU/Rescue Me crossover. Because the notion of Nine in turnout gear sets my heart aflutter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note: **I'm realizing that, my chapters being less frequent nowadays, I really ought to switch to PMing my thank-yous. You all deserve more timely gratitude than my posting schedule may be able to provide. So, this is the last batch of public thank-yous (except to guests like the fabulous Mauve Guest who I can't thank in PM). Though, in those instances where lots of people ask the same question, or someone poses a very good question, and I'm able to answer it, I'll share it with the class.

**Royslady51: **You're tellin' me. I would love to take over form Moffet should any unforeseen... accidents befall him. **TheBigCat:** Yay! I'm inspiring new fics! Which is good because lord knows I'm not holding up my end of the FF Whoverse at the moment... **Mauve Guest:** Thank you for your eternal support and trust that I won't just swan off and leave you all high and dry! So glad you're enjoying it! **Rattan:** You know, he'll probably make mention of it, though thankfully I'm reasonably certain this regeneration never dabbled, so she won't be set to execute him. **TK:** Yes! I'm alive! And I'm so sorry for the delay. You know, I took the Doctor teaching Rose to pilot the TARDIS from some real-life insanity in my stepdad trying to teach me to drive a manual. When you get used to doing something, you tend to just... forget steps. Which inevitably ends in a stalled '87 Pontiac Grand Am. Or fire. Thank you again SO much for your support. **hibari heza:** We did finally find a house, and we should be closing sometime in the next two weeks, hopefully. Then with the packing and the moving and school starting... *sigh I am le tired. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** I'm so glad to see you're back, and I just wanna give you a big hug! Don't worry at all about a short review. I'm just so glad you dropped by at all. And as much as I love a man in dress blues, there's just something about guys in T-shirts and turnout pants.

* * *

"Doctor," Rose breathed. The reverent timbre in her voice made his hearts swell and a broad, earnest smile spread across his face. He looked down at his companion, standing beside him in those grey cargo trousers and kelly green bespoke blouse which had drawn more than a few curious glances as they'd wound through the bustling markets of Alexandria. Just at the moment, however, she hadn't eyes for him, and he couldn't be happier. He stole a moment, a handful of heartbeats, to watch her in profile, her wide hazel eyes attempting to take in the dizzying sight before her. There was a small, familiar twinge of pain in his chest as he studied the curves and angles of her face, the way unruly wisps of dirty blonde hair escaped the messy bun she wore; but his unnamed longing could in no way overwhelm their shared joy. This may very well be his favorite place in all of human history. He knew she'd love it.

"Couldn't've put it better myself," The Doctor chimed in cheerfully, and as his words broke through her awestruck mind, she turned her face and awarded him a brilliant smile.

"Is this –?" Jack stepped up beside Rose, equally captivated by their surroundings.

"The Royal Library at the Musaeum of Alexandria," The Doctor confirmed, turning once more to the towering limestone columns that supported the hall of scrolls – the _bibliothekai_. Rows of shelves ran between the columns, stretching ahead of them for hundreds of yards and bearing countless papyrus scrolls containing the knowledge, history, and superstitions of a multitude of civilizations. "Dozens of scribes and scholars and library attendants live here," he continued, a wealth of admiration under his enthusiastic tone, "dedicated to the recording and preservation of the collective knowledge that arose from the greatest empires of the age. In this room, there are tens of thousands of works, spread across hundreds of thousands of scrolls."

"It's –" Jack began, his mouth moving in a futile attempt to find the words adequate to describe their surroundings.

"Fantastic," Rose supplied, taking The Doctor's hand firmly in her own and marching down the flight of stone steps with the eager Time Lord grinning madly in her wake. Jack followed, nearly stumbling on the first few steps as he remained mesmerized by the scale of it. The room was lit by tall, thin windows cut in the stone walls and massive bronze braziers kept carefully sequestered to the limits of the room where they posed the least risk to the unfathomable treasures inside. Jack had traveled widely through time and space, but as he watched Rose and The Doctor launch themselves joyously into the labyrinth of cedar wood shelves, he realized he'd never _really_ been anywhere. Not like this.

"Hey!" he called after them, "Wait up!"

* * *

"Do you want to see them?" The Doctor's voice behind her caused Rose to spin around. She'd been staring up at one of the excruciatingly detailed limestone columns, frowning a bit. They were painted with vibrant colors, depicting scenes of people and animals and pharaohs and gods; but the English letters that she saw seemed so incongruous. While initially tickled by the ability to read all the grandiloquent lines about the city and the long passed rulers of Egypt, she'd started to wish she could see the pillars as they truly were.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"The hieroglyphs," he clarified, digging the Sonic out of the inside pocket of that leather jacket and holding it up in front of her. Her eyes fell unwittingly to those long, agile fingers, the capable hands she was so very fond of. "I can ask her to stop translating, jus' for a bit."

"Sor' of like what you did on the Aberdeen," Rose smiled, "But in reverse."

"Yep," he said with a lift of his chin and that overconfident gleam in his blue eyes. '_You think you're so impressive_,' she thought, smiling at the unbidden memory. Instead of speaking, though, she bit her lip and nodded, and her Doctor obliged, activating the Sonic for a handful of seconds before switching it off and returning it to his pocket. Rose was hesitant to turn around.

"Go on, then," he crossed his arms and nodded toward the column. He was entirely too proud of himself, and Rose had a verbal jab loaded and ready. As she turned around, however, her comment dissolved from her mind. The once legible words had been replaced by the original hand-painted hieroglyphs, stark black against the pale stone surface. Instinctively, she began to reach out, but hesitated, darting a glance back at The Doctor.

"Go ahead," he said, matter-of-factly, "It's not an antique. No' yet, anyway." Rose turned back to the pillar, hardly breathing, and laid a gentle hand on the smooth surface, releasing a breathy chuckle as soon as she felt the cool stone under her palm. Drawing closer, she stared upward at the looming column and the palm leaf design carved around the top where the support met the massive stone ceiling blocks. Cedar shelves stretched out to either side of her, their spiced aroma mingling with the hearty, earthy notes of cut stone and a vaguely sweet, unfamiliar scent she could only assume was the papyrus scrolls. Rose found the English language utterly failed her in that moment.

"You!" the shout from a clearly masculine voice cracked through the otherwise silent scroll room with such ferocity that Rose visibly jumped, yanking her hand away from the pillar as though stung and spinning in the direction of the disruption. Some two hundred feet down the narrow aisle, between themselves and the stairway leading outside, two surly-looking men in full Roman military regalia advanced upon them, short swords drawn. Rose glanced back at the Doctor, who looked just as surprised as she felt.

"Stay where you are," the soldier in the lead, for they could not walk abreast between the towering shelves, commanded. As though they had another choice, Rose could hear the heavy footsteps of more soldiers behind them.

"You said I could touch the pillar," Rose said under her breath.

"I don't think this is about a pillar," The Doctor replied, his voice low and much closer to her ear than she'd anticipated, drawing an involuntary shiver.

"Show us your hands!" The guards were some fifty feet away, now, and Rose and The Doctor obeyed immediately.

"Where's Jack?" Rose hissed as discreetly as she could manage.

"Scampered, no doubt," The Doctor growled before lifting his chin, pasting on his best clueless smile and addressing the approaching soldiers, "Hello! Sorry to be a bother; we not supposed to be in here?"

"Silence!" the centurion commanded, stopping some three feet in front of them. He stood a head taller than the Doctor with armored breastplate, greaves, and thickly plumed helm tucked under his left arm. In his right, he held his short sword. "Where is your master?"

"Master?" Rose asked, both perplexed and offended.

"Yes, master," the Roman clipped, "By order of our sovereign, slaves are not permitted in the city of Alexandria unaccompanied."

"Slaves?" Rose's eyes drew wide, and she made to protest until she felt the Doctor nudge her gently with his still-raised forearm. Her remonstration died on her lips, though the mutinous gleam remained in her eyes as the soldier considered her with clear mistrust.

"We're new, I'm afraid," the Doctor tried to explain, his light, dumbed-down facade undiminished, "Didn't know the rules, sorry."

"You still haven't answered my question," the man stepped closer, looming over the Doctor and Rose.

"There you are!" came an all-too-familiar voice from behind them. Rose dared not turn around, but she smiled at Jack's unerring timing. She could hear the clatter of the soldiers behind them turning to meet this new intruder. "Sorry about that, guys. They wandered off one me. It's just so hard to find good help these days." Rose stopped smiling, and she could practically hear the Doctor roll his eyes.

"Who are you, sir?" the commander inquired with a touch more respect as Jack slowly made his way past the handful of waiting soldiers and wedge past a recalcitrant Time Lord who refused to take so much as the slightest step out of his way.

"Marius Maximus," Jack introduced, saluting the soldier with a fist held to his chest and a slight bow of his head, ignoring the not-so-subtle snort of derision from the Doctor, "I'm a merchant, newly arrived from Rome, and these are my servants, Tacitus and Rosa." Rose bit her lip, imagining just how close the Doctor was to clouting Jack, soldiers or no. The centurion regarded Rose and the Doctor carefully.

"Ill named, is he not?"

"Well, you know, I'm a fan of irony." Jack grinned. Rose wanted desperately to take a quick peek at 'Tacitus,' but she was having a hard enough time holding it together as it was. Of course, Jack couldn't know that, compared to his successor, this Doctor was relatively quiet. "My sincerest thanks for detaining these two. I can take it from here."

"I'm afraid not." The centurion answered, sounding sincerely regretful, "All unknown foreign entities must be brought before the Pharaoh. Myself and my men must escort you to the palace, immediately."

* * *

"Why d'they think we're slaves?" Rose whispered low as she walked next to the Doctor. The sound of merchants hawking their wares and clusters of prospective customers haggling loudly afforded them a modicum of privacy. The Doctor hadn't said much since they'd left the Library, and now she could see the stern set of his jaw as he glared daggers at Jack's back.

"Trousers aren't common in this region," the Doctor explained, "Even among the slaves, but they're absolutely unheard of among the higher classes."

"So s'at why they think Jack's our... our..."

"Mmmph," the Doctor grunted in response, and Jack, who was only a couple paces ahead, turned his head and gave them a brief wink.

"Told you two to change," he reminded. Rose felt rather than saw the Doctor's hand clench into a fist, and she reached out gently, brushing her fingers over the inside of his wrist and sliding her hand into his as it opened readily. She held tightly to that large, rough hand, nudging him with her shoulder, and when he finally looked down, she gave him a crooked smile that barely showed the pink flash of tongue peeking past her teeth.

"Is a bit funny," she commented. In response, the Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head, but she could see the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.

* * *

The palace sat atop a modest hill overlooking the phenomenal Alexandria harbor. Rose had been to Alexandria in her day, but compared to the clamor and smog of a modern, industrialized city of four-and-a-half million people, this place was both tranquil and breathtaking. The spring air carried the sweet, fresh scent of date and palm mingled the salty tang of the Mediterranean Sea. The sky above was crystal clear and the calm waters beyond the palace a deep, clean azure broken only by the modest wake of wind-driven vessels. The trio dutifully followed the guards up a set of limestone stairs and past towering columns between which hung long, navy blue curtains that billowed in the gentle breeze. Inside, they were led through a handful of large, richly appointed rooms before arriving at a set of twenty-foot high doors.

Two guards in Egyptian dress, but with decidedly European complexions, nodded to their escort and pushed open the massive cedar doors to grant them entrance. Rose was too busy looking up as they passed under the archway to immediately notice much about the room they entered or the people inside, but as soon as she brought her attention forward once more, her breath caught. The woman who stood before the open balcony at the far end of the room was by no stretch a spectacular beauty. She did, however, possess a gravitas and a bearing of such unquestioned authority that it was impossible to look away. Her fine silk robes and exotic adornments, indicative of her position, were utterly wasted. This woman needed no such regalia, and as her fierce whiskey-hued eyes assessed them each in turn, Rose shuddered and grasped the Doctor's hand more tightly.

"Introducing her highness, Cleopatra Philopater, Pharaoh of Egypt," the centurion announced as he halted the group before her. Rose knew she ought not stare, but she could no more help herself than she could will her heart to stop beating. The queen wore a simple, gold uraeus headdress over a black wig, which was cropped at the shoulder. Her golden eyes were lined with dark kohl and her eyebrows enhanced by the same. Her skin was far fairer than any native Egyptian's, with the olive undertones of Mediterranean peoples, and her full lips, pleasantly heart-shaped face, and defined brow and cheek bones were made all the more stark by a prominent aquiline nose. No, Cleopatra was no beauty, but she was wholly captivating.

"Caius," Cleopatra acknowledged to the haughty soldier who'd taken his knee in due respect, "Who have you brought before me?"

"Your highness, I introduce Marius Maximus, a merchant newly arrived from Rome," Caius announced, motioning Jack forward. The rogue happily stepped forward, taking a knee and a smiling broadly.

"At your service, my Pharaoh."


	4. Chapter 4

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**A/N: **Surprise! Extra long chapter. You're welcome. And I'm tired.

* * *

"Welcome to fair my city, Marius Maximus," the queen intoned carefully, though Rose could see the gleam of reluctant amusement in her eyes as Jack regained his feet. Rose couldn't help smirking, knowing precisely the rogue's full range of facial expressions, including the combination of winsome confidence and ungrudging deference he reserved for those accustomed to demanding a high degree of respect. "What news of Rome?"

"I'm afraid my Pharaoh would know better than I. We left over a year ago, Alexandria was meant to be our last port before our return," he replied, and Rose had to admire his deft evasion of the question.

"A long time for a merchant to be abroad," Cleopatra commented, her chin rising incrementally. There was a breath of skepticism in her tone, subtle enough to be dismissed by most, but not by a crew who'd traversed all of time and space.

"I'm an importer," Jack explained without pause, "The bare bones of daily operations can be seen to by my staff. I'm of much better use arranging trade agreements and negotiating with new suppliers."

"And from whence have you arrived in my city?" If any question gave him pause, it was this.

"Syria," he said, covering his pause by expounding, "by way of Cyprus, if that matters. We had some, uh, boat trouble." Rose didn't realize the Doctor had been holding his breath until she felt him release it gradually. She looked aside at him, suddenly serious and disinclined to pay further attention to the manner in which Jack's speech had devolved in eloquence from 'my Pharaoh' to 'boat trouble.'

"I see," his response seemed to have marginally placated the canny monarch, "That is quite a journey. Being so long from home, it's no wonder you brought your concubine on this voyage." Rose might never have paid attention to the word choice had such terminology not been leveled at her before. As it was, her head snapped toward the queen in shock.

"Oi!" the Doctor protested, "Tha's quite enough." His fingers wrapped more tightly around Rose's hand and he made an instinctive step toward the dais before all half dozen Roman soldiers turned toward him and brought their weapons to bear. He complied, halting mid grumble, but losing nothing in the aggressive set of his shoulders, nor the open look of challenge in his dark eyes.

"Who is this slave that he speaks so?" Cleopatra demanded, meeting the Doctor's brazen glare and matching its intensity.

"I'm sorry, my Pharaoh," Jack spoke quickly, putting his hands up in a plea for patience, "The woman isn't my concubine, you see. He's just..." For a second, Jack clearly struggled to explain away his servant's unruly outburst. Rose tugged gently at the Doctor's hand, trying to signal him that he might back off, just a touch, and make Jack's job a bit easier. Then, Jack had a flash of inspiration, "She's his wife."

Jack's hasty explanation was the only thing that could have possibly torn the Doctor's attention from the indignant queen, and Rose couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd slapped her across the face with a dead mackerel. Both of them shot a stunned look at their willful accomplice, eyes wide and jaws vaguely slack; and Jack had to force back the triumphant grin that threatened to break across his face. Instead, he winced and shrugged one shoulder apologetically. He watched, almost giddy, as the usually surly Time Lord and the clever, impish blonde glanced tentatively at each other, unsure how to respond, before they returned their now subdued attention to the Pharaoh.

"I must apologize, your highness," Jack continued, "Tacitus served my father, and he's sometimes overly familiar, but he's like family. There's no one I trust more, and he refused to attend me on this trip unless Rosa came with him. He was merely defending his lovely wife's honor; he meant no offense." Jack realized as he spoke that his words were, at least in part, truthful. The Doctor was frequently prickly; rude, even; but he was unfailingly honest and steadfast. Putting aside his general distrust in the aftermath of the Time Agency's meddling, Jack couldn't imagine trusting anyone as much as that madman in the blue box.

"I understand," Cleopatra replied after taking a moment to study both Jack and his mouthy 'servant.' "And I accept your apology on your man's behalf. Do try to keep him in hand during your stay." The Doctor resumed his mutinous scowl, but he possessed the wherewithal to keep his mouth shut.

"Yes, my Pharaoh," Jack bowed. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Our stay?"

"Yes, Marius. It's unfortunate that I had to welcome a respected merchant to my city in this rude manner, and I must insist that you take advantage of our hospitality before you depart for Rome."

"That is most gracious, your highness," Jack acknowledged.

* * *

"Nice digs," Rose commented appreciatively as the guards shut the large double doors behind them. She knew she ought to scold Jack, maybe even clout him over the ears, just to make a show of it. Jack's excuse for the Doctor's outburst had been mortifying, and even if it weren't his fault, it had clearly made the Doctor uncomfortable. Rose taking Jack to task would save the conman from a measure of the Doctor's temper, if not all of it. As she'd made to speak up, however, a knot had formed in her gut reminding her of the thrill, both wonderful and horrible, that had gripped her at the very idea. In the end, she could only manage to comment on the opulence of their accommodations.

"I get the feeling we're not guests so much as prisoners," Jack replied with a wry twist to his mouth as he strolled ahead and examined the large chamber. "No windows." Rose and the Doctor stayed by the door, standing several feet apart. Jack turned back, looking to the daft alien and the clever human for some kind of solution. As he took in their suddenly distant, awkward stance, he groaned inwardly, "Look, I'm sorry. It's the only thing I could come up with."

"Right, so what's the plan, then, 'Master?'" the Time Lord mocked.

"Doctor..." Rose chided under her breath.

"Hey, I told you both to change," Jack reminded.

"I'm done wearin' dresses, thanks," Rose insisted.

"Yeah, me too," the Doctor added, and when Rose darted a look at him, he gave her a rather laborious wink.

"So much for professionalism," Jack chided with little force. He couldn't find it in himself to be sincerely critical when the Doctor was cracking jokes, never mind imagining the great grumpus in a dress. He wondered idly if all Time Lords lacked the ability to wink properly.

"Guys," Rose cut in before the two could get a proper tiff going, "What ye plan to do about gettin' out?" At that, both men sobered, no brilliant schemes immediately forthcoming. "Or the fact there's only one bed?" Immediately, Jack turned around, noting for the first time only one proper bed, draped in richly dyed silk bedclothes and piled with a ridiculous surplus of pillows. Along the wall to their right lay two modest cots, pushed together, with plain linen duvets rolled at the foot. Clearly, these were intended for Marius' 'servants.' For a second, Jack and the Doctor just stared at the cots.

"Well," Rose continued when neither of them made a move to sort the issue, "I'm not sleepin' on the floor." With her announcement, she breezed past Jack and pushed past the sheer linen curtains surrounding the generously appointed bed, stepping up onto the low platform on which it rested and throwing herself backward into the field of silken cushions. "Oh, that's just heavenly."

"Hey, hang on," Jack protested, "Won't it be a little suspicious for my slave to be sleeping on the bed?"

"Tough," Rose shrugged, grinning up at the ceiling painted with a dark blue depiction of the heavens as understood by the ancient Egyptians.

"You know, there's room for two on that bed," Jack pointed out, trying for compromise, "Plenty of room." He was standing beside the bed, looking down at her with that suave, suggestive smile that Rose simply couldn't take seriously. The Doctor had followed his two companions, arms crossed and suppressing a severe eye-roll, behind the gauzy drapes and was standing at the opposite corner of the bed, regarding the whole debate with good-humored disinterest; until now. Jack watched, rather proud of himself, as the too-good-for-this-conversation Time Lord's head snapped up and his hands dropped. Within seconds he took a couple of steps and tossed himself, ever so casually, onto the bed beside Rose, long legs crossed and hands clasped behind his head.

"Yes, there is," the Doctor grinned at him smugly. Rose glanced back at him, surprised, but quickly turned her face back to the ex-Time Agent and grinned at him as if it was a plan she'd been in on all along.

"Do you even need to sleep?" Jack protested, crossing his arms and doing his very best to look properly put out in spite of his wildly gloating inner child. Damn if he wasn't good, and as long as he could count on the Doctor's veiled jealousy and Rose's not-so-secret affections, his end goal was a foregone conclusion. Still, it was crucial that the Doctor think he was trying in earnest. To be fair, if Rose wasn't so clearly infatuated with the Time Lord, he would be.

"'Course I do," the Doctor scoffed, "Due for another wee kip tonight, in fact." It was a bald-faced lie. He'd gotten a good five hours the week before, just before Jack had come on board. Still, he could manage a nap. Probably.

* * *

Predictably, 'Tacitus' and 'Rosa' were not invited to that evening's lavish dinner. So, when 'Marius Maximus' walked out the door with his swagger and his smiles; and an ornate new chiton and matching toga, provided by their generous 'host;' Rose and the Doctor were left to their own devices. Cleopatra had also provided more – appropriate – attire for Jack's attendants, attire which they both outright refused to wear. As the doors shut behind the incorrigible Captain, Rose mused that he'd been a little too keen to see the Doctor in a chiton. Not that she could blame him.

"So, we're gonna go pokin' around, yeah?" Rose said, still lying on the astoundingly comfortable bed as the Doctor nosed about the room.

"No point," he shrugged, flipping open the lid to a cedar-wood chest that wound up containing only blankets and fresh bedclothes, "There's guards outside. If they don't want us _slaves_ knockin' about the city unescorted, they certainly won't take kindly to us roaming the palace as we please."

"Yeah, why is that?" Rose asked, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at what he was up to. Having abandoned the cedar chest, the meddlesome Time Lord had moved on to examining the contents of two shallow drawers in the side table by the door. His back was turned to her, leather-draped shoulders hunched intently over his snooping.

"Could be anythin'," he shrugged, closing the drawers and turning around to lean back against the table, arms crossed, "It's a delicate point in history. Julius Ceasar's been assassinated and there's a power vaccuum. Three men are sharing control of the empire."

"That can't end well," Rose cringed.

"No, it can't. And Marc Antony spent the winter here, gettin' cozy with the queen," with that, the Doctor's brow crinkled in thought, "Must have just left. Cleopatra gives birth to their twins about nine months from now. That might explain it. The truce is holding for now, but Octavian's ambitious. Cleopatra certainly doesn't trust him, and with Marc Antony gone, she's on alert."

"S'at why you were nervous about Jack's answer? 'Bout where we been?" Rose asked, and the Doctor smiled broadly.

"Tha's right," he acknowledged, pushing off from the table and ambling toward her. She was so very clever, his Rose. Clever and perceptive, catching the little details he often missed. "The territories are divided between Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus. All still technically part of the Roman Empire, but the Captain was clever enough to mention territories controlled by Antony." By now, the Doctor had reached the platform, pushing past the curtains and leaning against the sturdy square bedpost in that supremely confident manner of his.

"Did you just call Jack clever?" Rose asked, her tongue peeking out from behind her brilliant smile.

"No," the Doctor scoffed. When Rose raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes and lowered his arms, standing up from the post, "All right, maybe a little."

"You called him clever a little?"

"Well, he's not clever as me, that's for certain."

"Oh, of course not," Rose agreed with mock dignity. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, stepping closer until he loomed over her.

"That's right," he insisted, chin slightly elevated, "Genius, me."

"But you admit he's maybe not so bad. Maybe even a bit helpful."

"When he's not flirting," the Doctor qualified, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "Most Time Agents are just cowboys, Rose. Idiot children playin' with things they've no comprehension of."

"But Jack actually knows his stuff," Rose concluded, shifting onto her side, head propped on one hand and careful not to come too near the Doctor. They were rare, these moments when he was so unguarded, when he'd come so near during the calm and the quiet. They'd become rarer since Jack came on board, and she didn't want to break the spell, didn't want to frighten this flighty bird away.

"Yeah, sometimes he knows his stuff," the Doctor agreed with a gentle smile. He hated the conman's persistent flirting, but underneath all the charm and bravado, the Doctor could tell that he held a genuine regard for Rose. It tore at him; his inability to simply despise Jack, the knowledge that he himself could never be everything to his brilliant girl, and that Jack, for all his faults, may very well be the only man in the universe who could even come close to being good enough for her. Yes, he hated the Time Agent, but he loved him, too; for saving her on the Aberdeen, for saving her in the bell tower, and for being her one shot at true happiness. As he sat near, basking in her light, he took a deep breath and ignored the constricting pain in his chest. His Rose was perceptive, sometimes too perceptive, and he didn't dare let these stolen moments linger too long.

"Come on, then," he said cheerfully, taking his feet and holding out a hand, "They've got a chess set."

* * *

Rose lay in utter darkness, warm and cozy in a cocoon of silk but wholly unable to sleep. Jack had come ambling in late in the evening, merrily inebriated and eager to chat about what a wonderful evening he'd had. Rose and the Doctor had tucked themselves into the cots on the floor in the name of keeping up appearances, but as soon as the doors had shut behind their sloshed companion, they'd hopped to their feet and retreated behind the gauzy curtains. Jack had scowled and stuck his tongue out at them in part to protest their unwillingness to stay up and gossip with him, and in part for making good on their threat to make him sleep on the floor. There was some brief grumbling about being treated no better than a dog before Jack passed out, snoring thunderously.

It wasn't the snoring, however, that kept Rose awake. Hell, she was almost glad for the constant reassurance that her friend hadn't yet succumbed to acute alcohol poisoning. No, despite being nearly as comfortable as she'd have been in her bed in the TARDIS, Rose found herself lying on her side, staring futilely into the stark blackness where the Doctor lay, presumably asleep. He'd removed his boots and jacket before climbing into bed, but he'd settled himself atop the covers, stretched out on his back with one hand cradled underneath his head and the other resting absently on his chest. She couldn't hear him breathing for the incredible racket originating from the incapacitated captain, but she was hyperaware of his presence, of the pronounced dip in the primitive mattress and the fact he hadn't moved an inch in hours. As a result, neither had she.

Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the singular night until she could just make out his profile. He appeared so peaceful, so unnervingly still in the shadow of his frequently manic wakefulness. In time, she was able to discern the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the only sign of life. She didn't want to stare, to be weird about the whole situation, but she couldn't get beyond the fact that, despite the respectable distance between them, she was lying next to the Doctor. She'd not dwelt overmuch on the realization she'd come to on the Aberdeen, but in that tranquil stillness; with that insane, rude, wonderful alien sleeping inches away; she couldn't stop her mind from wandering and her lone heart from aching. A single tear slid, unannounced, over the bridge of her nose, and it was everything she could do not to reach out and lay her hand, just one hand, over the long, rough fingers resting over his twin hearts.

When the Doctor stirred, panic curled in Rose's chest and her eyes bolted shut. Pulse drumming in her own ears with frantic clarity, it took a moment to realize he'd only moved slightly, his right hand removed from behind his head to rest at his side and his face turned toward her. When she dared peek, she saw his eyes firmly closed and worrying crease in his brow. Was he dreaming? Rose nestled herself deeper into the pillows, hoping to keep one eye on him while hiding most of her face on the chance that he suddenly awoke. Then, his lips parted in a silent gasp and a rolling grumble started to climb up from somewhere deep. Rose held her breath, staring at him, unsure what to do.

"Nnnnn," the Doctor mumbled, the fingers on his left hand twitching with an irregular beat, "No. Nonononono, no." He sounded faint, breathless, whether from sleep or panic Rose couldn't be sure, but she slowly lifted herself onto one elbow, careful not to disturb him but readying herself to wake him if she felt it necessary.

"You can't," his utterance, passing through barely opened lips, was only just discernable, "Itassastop. No choice. No choice. Not anymore." Rose swallowed hard, now sitting fully upright and inching closer to the disquieted Time Lord. His head thrashed suddenly to his right and Rose started, hesitating. He wasn't moving much, save for his head, but his whole body was rigid, his right hand fisted in the fine silk bedclothes and the fingers of his left still tapping out a discordant rhythm on his chest. He didn't move or speak for several moments, and Rose was torn between waking him and letting the dream run its course, leaving him none the wiser in the morning. Then, he spoke again.

"No more," the Doctor breathed with a weak, rasping voice, and Rose released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Doctor," she whispered, her voice shallow with fright, "Wake up." Without a clear plan, she reached out and wrapped his restless fingers in her steady hands, pressing tightly. For a second he stilled, and his brow relaxed.

"Rose," he mumbled, and she knew he was still asleep, "Rose, no. Nononono. Y'cantbehere, Rose." His momentary stillness broke into an increased panic, his eyes clenched shut and tears glistening along his lashes in the dim light. She had to wake him.

"Doctor," she hissed as loudly as she dared, grasping his hand more tightly between her own, "Wake up, Doctor. Please! Wake up!" Rose risked a glance in the general direction of the cot, but the Time Agent was still snoring soundly. Jack couldn't see the Doctor like this. Not ever.

"Rose?" Her name was enunciated clearly this time, and she turned her attention back to the Doctor. He was awake, his eyes open but unreadable in the dark.

"Doctor," Rose sighed, relieved beyond measure, "Doctor, you're all right. You're here with me an' Jack. We're in Egypt, in Alexandria, in – oh, hell, when are we?"

"40 BCE," the Doctor supplied, though the question had clearly been reflective. He remembered the dream in horrible, consuming detail; and, more critically, he remembered her face appearing before him, glowing gold and fierce. She wasn't supposed to be there, not there. Not one of the thousand dreams he'd had since the fall of his world had shaken him so thoroughly. Now, here she was, safe and sound and – what was that _racket_?

"Doctor," she said his name with the reverence of a prayer and released his hand, collapsing onto his chest in a fierce hug that startled him from his curiosity over that terrible noise. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her head and bringing his own breathing back to normal.

"It's all right Rose," he whispered into the soft waves of hair resting just beneath his chin. She chuckled in response, hugging him tighter.

"Isn't that s'posed to be my line?" she asked, her words muffled against the wool of his jumper. A wry smile creased his mouth. He ought to be embarrassed, but he just couldn't manage it.

"Thank you for waking me," he said, untangling his fingers from her hair with gentle reluctance and reaching for the hand grasping his shoulder. It was by turns surreal and utterly fantastic, her half-lying on his chest, but he knew better than to let it go on. As he made to ease her hand from his shoulder, however, she gripped tighter and nuzzled against him, warming his hearts even as she broke them. Still, he acquiesced, allowing her to stay put and wrapping long fingers around her petite wrist, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. She still had that mess of bracelets on, and as the lay there in the dark, he took to fiddling with them, never able to keep totally still for long.

Then, just as Rose's breathing was returning to normal, he pushed one of the bangles aside and felt something odd – and oddly familiar. It was the worn leather band and smooth, rectangular crystal face of a watch. A men's wristwatch, if he had to guess, as it was a touch too large in proportion to her wrist. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel it ticking, hear the subtle swish and click of the movement in the dark. He swallowed hard, knowing damn well his watch was still on his wrist. How long had she been wearing it? Had he given it to her after he regenerated? Had she found it herself? Had she asked for it? She must've had it on when she came through the void. Had she actually missed this rude, manic form and this – unconventional – face? When Rose's fingers flexed and she began to ease herself up, he schooled his features and suppressed the urge to pull her back to him.

"You all right then, Doctor?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow, her other arm still slung over his chest, hand curled inside his. For several heartbeats, he didn't answer, his impressive Time Lord mind still reeling: 'She's wearing my watch. His watch. Whatever.'

"Did I ever tell you its name?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them, "My planet, I mean." Of course _he_ hadn't, that much was obvious, but she knew what he meant.

"No," she whispered back, "Never."

"And you didn't ask?"

"Figured he'd tell me when he was ready." He felt rather than saw her shrug in the dark. Of course she wouldn't ask. So very perceptive, his Rose, and he couldn't help smiling.

"Lay back down," he said, "Long way 'till morning." Rose hesitated a moment, but when he made no move to release the hand held at his shoulder, she lowered herself down, resting her head on his near shoulder and finding his other hand loose at his side. She twined her fingers through his and closed her eyes. When he spoke again, several minutes later, she almost couldn't hear him.

"Gallifrey," he breathed, feeling the monumental burden lighten, if only for a moment, "It was called Gallifrey." Rose nuzzled closer, squeezing his hand to let him know she heard, and that he didn't need to say anything else. Jack was still snoring soundly in the corner. He'd give them no end of grief if he awoke before them, and the Doctor didn't much care. This would never happen again, he couldn't let it; but for just this one night he could lie next to her, feel her precious heart and her steady breathing by his side. Then, as if there were a god out there somewhere, a god who clearly hated him (not that the Doctor disagreed), Rose's head suddenly lifted from his shoulder and she took her hand from the one at his side in order to support her weight.

"Doctor?" she whispered, gazing at the parallel wall, "What is _that_?"


End file.
